ConSpire
by swanpride
Summary: Before the hearing, Neal suddenly has a new job perspective. And a panorama view - from a deathly place.
1. Prologue

Prologue

When Neal was a child, he loved climbing trees. One memorable summer, the big oak in an abandoned garden near his home became his favorite place. The man who was responsible for it kept a dog on the property to keep people away, but Neal bribed it with treats and pats. Near the trunk of the tree was an old forgotten garden stool. Standing on it, Neal could jump high enough to reach the lowest branch of the tree. From there he would climb as high as possible. There was one fork on which one could sit fairly comfortably, watching the people on the street without getting seen. Neal often took his drawing materials with him, making sketches of everything in view: the people, the old elegant house, the dog. When he got hungry, he just had to climb a little bit lower. A couple of bramble bushes were growing so close that Neal only had to reach out to pick some fruit. Sadly, when the autumn came, the oak stopped being such a good hiding place. The following spring, the house and the whole garden had been torn down in favor of a planned apartment house (which never was finished because the main investor went bankrupt).

Neal's climbing abilities had come in handy a couple of times on one heist or another. But while he wasn't exactly afraid of heights, climbing along the spire of a New York skyscraper was _not _his favorite thing to do. Carefully he eased himself forward, trying to find a safer position. The cold wind was tugging on his clothes and he felt as if the whole skyscraper was moving under him. La Fontaine's fable "Le Chêne et le Roseau" came unbidden to his mind.* He knew that skyscrapers weren't totally static - they couldn't be - but he had been never been as aware of this as now.

He mentally thanked the architect for seeking his inspiration in art deco and adding a lot of ornaments to the spire. The protruding pieces of metal were difficult to navigate around, but they were also good to cling to. While Neal moved forward on the slippery stones, he cursed Peter in his mind. This was entirely his fault.

* * *

><p><em>AN: *The fable is about a quarrel between the oak tree and the common reed. The oak tree is convinced that he is much stronger, because he is big and unshakable. Finally the oak tree is uprooted by a powerful storm, while the common reed survives because it is able to bend to it without breaking. There is also an older version of it by Aesop. _

_The idea to this story started last year, when I had a longer talk with Tee-Jay about the show. She liked the concept I had in mind, but I was lacking the time to write it, partly because I had signed up for the fic-exchange. But then I drew her name by chance. I started to write it for her seeking inspiration at Collar Corner and answering quite a number of prompts in it, but then the mid-season finale came around and I had the problem that I had no idea where to fit this one into canon. Thankfully I now have found the perfect place for it: After "Upper West Side Story" but before "Neighborhood Watch". This is quite a big writing project and I'm not sure how often I'll manage to update, but the chapters will be fairly long. It's dedicated to all the folks at Collar Corner (especially those who took their time to talk my ideas through with me) and to mam711, who still has her work cut out by beta-reading for me. _


	2. Chapter 1

Four weeks earlier:

It was a quiet morning in the office. Clinton was lounging in his chair, reading a file. Diana was doing research, sipping at her coffee at short intervals. Neal was absently doodling beside the equations he had made on a piece of paper concerning a case of insurance fraud. Since Peter had concealed his true level of involvement in the theft of the treasure, things had mostly gone back to normal. But there were still lingering effects. Peter no longer delayed driving home in time for dinner; instead he took the case files with him. He also could often be seen brooding at his desk, watching Neal as if he was measuring him. But not this day. This day he had been busy with a lot of phone calls and paperwork.

Around 10 o'clock Peter left his office and positioned himself at the railing of the upper landing. Clinton immediately sat a little bit straighter when he saw his boss. He had the typical spark in his eyes, indicating that he'd either found something interesting in the file box or had received a worthwhile tip. This would be good.

"Whatever you're doing can wait: I need you now," Peter ordered. Although he didn't mention names, everyone knew who was meant. Movement came over the room. Relieved from their boring tasks, Peter's usual unit was in the conference room in record time.

"NYPD sent a case over to us. Apparently, someone is trying to extort the CEO of Secutec, Theodore Garrison, over some financial irregularities."

"And he actually went to the police with this?" Diana knew that CEOs habitually avoided anything which might cause the authorities to take a closer look into their books.

"No, that was his soon-to-be ex-wife. Apparently, she engaged a private investigator to get some trump cards for the upcoming divorce settlement. He bugged the husband's phone and provided a recording of the extortion call."

"And she's still worried enough about him to go to the police?" Clinton wondered.

"Actually, she hopes the police will uncover proof of her husband's misdeeds. She's out for his blood, never mind what it'll cost her." Everyone in the room suppressed a wince; nothing worse than a scorned lover out for revenge.

"NYPD suspects the blackmailer is from out of state, but has no leads on his exact identity. Jones, I want you to go through the recording for clues as soon as it arrives from the NYPD. Perhaps they missed something. Diana, take care of the warrants we might need."

"You want to search Garrison's home and financial records?"

"No, not yet. I doubt we would find something. Our best bet is to crash the exchange: this way we'll have proof against Garrison and the blackmailer at the same time. Problem is the meeting will happen in a month, during _Trends of Tomorrow_. Neal, your turn."

Neal gave him a "who, me?" look, but relented when he saw Peter's "cut the crap" face.

"It's a very exclusive party Gwyneth Molesworth organizes every year. She lines up young and still-unknown artists and designers who are allowed to show off their work during the party. To present there is considered the chance of a lifetime, especially since Swan's success. He started out with a small installation at _Trends of Tomorrow_ four years ago and found a wealthy sponsor. The rich guests like to show off their wealth. To roam there is the dream of every thief, but Gwyneth Molesworth has a keen eye on the people who attend, and the security is very tight. To sneak into her party is nearly impossible," explained Neal for those agents with a general lack of interest in the workings of High Society (which was everyone in the room with the exception of Diana). "Not that I ever tried to attend," he added hastily when Peter gave him a stern look. Which was technically true: he'd never tried, just considered it more than once.

"It's the ideal place for an exchange," Diana realized. "Gwyneth Molesworth hates the police, especially the FBI: she would never allow a covert operation during one of her parties."

"It also means that the blackmailer is most likely on the guest list himself. So, we need a way to insert some agents."

"Catering?" Jones suggested.

"The catering is done in-house. There is no way to insert a sizable number of agents without alerting the owner of the building. And that's Gwyneth Molesworth," said Neal.

"And how do you know about the catering?" Peter inquired.

"It's just something you know." Neal evaded the question. "The only people allowed into the party are the handpicked staff, the invited guests, the artists, and the models for the runway show." A grin was spreading over his face. "Which are selected by the designers."

Peter was grinning too. "Let's find out who got lucky this year."

* * *

><p>According to FBI research, Constance Cater, better known under her pseudonym Chenille, had registered the label <em>Chrysalia<em> three years ago, but she secured her living from a small crafts shop she owned. When Peter and Neal arrived, a delivery man had just left. Peter caught the glass door before it could close and entered the shop. The interior looked slightly chaotic, with a bunch of sketches pinned over the shelves of yarn, a half-empty thread rack, and bolts of cloth stacked on what normally was the cashier's counter. A light-brunette woman was kneeling on the hardwood floor, cutting a large piece of cloth in an oval shape.

"Constance Cater?" Peter confirmed.

"The shop is temporarily closed. We'll reopen next month."

"We aren't customers," Peter explained. "We're here on official business."

She looked up from her work, moved a strand of hair–which had dislodged itself from her tangled bun–behind her ear and took Peter's suit in. "Obviously," she sighed. "Can we make this short? I'm on a tight schedule at the moment."

"Because of the presentation at _Trends of Tomorrow_?"

She got up, adjusted her rimless glasses and sized him up through squinted eyes. She looked displeased, but she kept her tone even. "As a matter of fact, yes. So, what do you want from me?"

He showed her a badge. "Agent Peter Burke, FBI. This is Neal Caffrey. We need your help."

Her eyes wandered in Neal's direction for a short assessment, before addressing Peter again. "I really don't see how I can help you, Agent Burke." Again she looked at Neal, this time surveying him from head to toe, lingering at his legs.

Peter decided to get directly to the point. "I need you to help me to infiltrate the party with some undercover agents posing as models."

She shot a fleeting look in Neal's direction, as if she was seeking confirmation, before she pursed her lips. "Let me get this straight: You want me to use amateur models for the presentation which could be my breakthrough as a designer. Not just that, but undercover agents, who will eventually disrupt the party full of rich people and potential customers for my clothes, ruining the chance of my lifetime."

"You would help to put a criminal behind bars."

"Is it a murderer, child molester, or mob boss?" Since she didn't get an immediate answer, she guessed correctly no. "I've worked hard to get to this point. I won't ruin it so that you can play some sort of spy game."

"It's hardly a game. I could force you to help me." Peter was now looming over her, which was an easy thing to do, considering that she was only slightly taller than Elizabeth.

Arms crossed in front of her chest, she was distinctly unimpressed by Peter's threatening gesture. "I doubt it, but even if you could, that would make waves. Since you came to me instead of Mrs. Molesworth, I guess that's exactly what you're trying to avoid." She turned away, but Peter noted that she didn't go back to her work, but took a half step in Neal's direction. That was the reason Peter liked to take Neal with him when he had to talk to victims, suspects, or witnesses. Whenever his badge and his empty or not-so-empty threats failed, Neal's ability to persuade came in handy. And he had impeccable timing. Without missing a beat, Neal came closer.

"We understand your worries, Ms. Cater…"

"Chenille. If it's related to my designs, I'm Chenille."

"… Chenille, but we will be as discreet as possible."

Satisfied Peter watched the scene in front of him. Neal was now directly in front of Chenille, treating her with his most winning smile, and she was looking dreamily – at his shoulder?

"Is that a Devore? Classic Rat Pack style?" she asked out of the blue.

Peter had to suppress his laughter when Neal's smile literally melted away upon realizing that her whole interest was focused on his clothes and not on him.

"Well, yes. The husband of the woman who gave it to me got it from Sy himself."

"It's great work. Perfectly tailored, and those lines – and you are wearing the hell out of it."

Now that her attention was back on him, Neal tried his charm again.

"You have a good eye for clothing. I'm impressed."

"I'm a designer," she said dismissively.

"One with good taste. I'm sure your clothes will be a hit at the party, no matter who wears them or what happens during the presentation. You can choose the agents for your show yourself …" Peter shot him a withering look because of this promise. "… and they will all be perfectly professional."

"You are making promises you can't keep, _Mr._ Caffrey." Without missing a beat, she moved his trouser leg slightly with her foot, revealing the anklet. "I thought so. My uncle has to wear one of those. You should wear trousers with wider legs to avoid them bulking above the anklet."

Neal hastily moved his leg away. "Again, a good eye," he said, visibly embarrassed. Peter interjected: "I'll back up this promise. Ms. Cater, we don't know for sure yet if there are any lives at stake. But we know that one guest of the party is involved in financial fraud. Isn't that reason enough to help?"

There were people who considered fraud a minor matter, but Peter knew that Constance Cater wasn't one of them. According to her file, her parents had died in the Concorde crash in June 2000 and her uncle had been appointed as trustee in their will until she turned twenty-one. When she was finally able to claim her inheritance, she discovered that he had embezzled large sums from it, leaving her nearly destitute. The FBI eventually caught the uncle (who somehow got away with a five-year sentence, served partly in a so-called country club prison in Florida, which he was now finishing on an electronic anklet), but the money had never been recovered. She had been forced to sell her childhood home, because she couldn't afford the taxes anymore and to be able to finish her design studies. That she had noticed Neal's anklet was unfortunate, but Peter was banking on her distaste for fraud being strong enough to help them nevertheless.

There was some doubt on her face, but then she straightened: "If the FBI had done its job properly four years ago, I could afford to wait for another chance, but I've invested everything I have into the show. I'll keep your visit to myself, but I won't help you. You've wasted enough of my time. You know where the door is."

* * *

><p>It was time for Plan B. Plan B involved Peter looking into alternative possibilities of getting some agents into the party, Neal studying the blueprints of the skyscraper in which it would take place, and Diana trying again the very next day to solicit Chenille's help. For this occasion, Diana had benched her usual style and borrowed something from Christie closer to what a model would wear for an interview. A fake portfolio in her arm, she knocked at the door of the shop. Through the glass she could see Chenille working on a tailor's dummy. Visibly unhappy about the interruption, she opened the door.<p>

"You must have the wrong date. The casting is tomorrow, not today."

"So I can pass for a model in your eyes?"

Chenille paused. "I thought I was quite clear yesterday, Agent …?"

"… Diana Berrigan. I was hoping that you would reconsider."

"Just because you can pass as a model at first look doesn't mean that I would hire you. For one, you are slightly too short. Can you even walk?"

"I have been on a runway before."

"Doesn't mean that you did a good job." She opened the door a little bit more, allowing Diana to enter the shop. "Very well, show what you have. Start at the wall, come here, pose, make a full turn during your way back, pose again in front of the wall and then come forward again."

Diana was a little taken aback by her demanding attitude, but nevertheless she complied. Still in her final pose she asked, "Your judgment?"

"I like your strong attitude, especially the confident look in your eyes. The poses are good, the turn looks effortless enough, but the walk itself is too stumpy. And it's obvious that you don't like what you have to do. Agent Berrigan, I'm impressed by your dedication, but this is too important for me."

"I understand that. But this isn't a game we're playing: this is about blackmail and financial fraud. Ms. Cater …"

"Chenille."

"… Chenille. Don't you think that the ones responsible deserve to be punished?"

Chenille didn't answer. She fidgeted thoughtfully with the pincushion on her wrist. Diana decided to give her an additional nudge in the right direction. "The FBI is prepared to reimburse you should our operation disturb your show considerably."

A bitter laugh was the answer. "How can you reimburse a destroyed dream?"

"Most likely it won't be necessary to reimburse for anything. Ms. Cater…"

"Chenille."

"Constance," Diana insisted. She had recognized that the designer used the pseudonym to distance herself from her feelings as much as possible. "If anyone had known about the actions of your uncle early on, wouldn't you wish that they had spoken up? Wouldn't you wish that someone had done anything in time to preserve your inheritance? We might have the chance here to catch one of those fraudsters for good."

Diana looked at her intently, willing her to consent. Finally, her stance relaxed.

"Very well, but we'll do it on my terms. I'll allow you to send a couple of your agents to the casting tomorrow, and I'll regard them more favorably than the regular models. Nevertheless, I'll only choose them if they can provide an adequate performance on the runway, so you'd better practice your walk. And I want your promise regarding the reimbursement in writing."

"Only if you hire at least three agents. Deal?"

"Deal!"

* * *

><p>The next morning, there was a notable lack of young agents in the office of the White Collar unit. Peter had sent every agent who could even remotely pass for a model to the casting. He himself had a mostly useless talk with the soon-to-be ex-Mrs. Garrison. Then he went through the files his agents had left for him the evening before.<p>

Jones was the first back in the office, and, anticipating Peter's wishes, immediately reported to him.

"After the agreement was signed, she was amiable, but we won't know for sure until she phones you after the casting is over."

"How did she react to Caffrey?" It had been a risk to send the con man considering her reaction to the anklet, but there was no doubt that he was the best-looking man in the office.

"More or less like everyone else. He certainly can walk. Even the professional models couldn't stop staring." Jones voice was a mixture of amusement and envy. "But she was very dignified about it. And she showed no sign of distaste towards him."

"Good. You said that the blackmailer hinted that he hacked into Garrison's work computer to get proof of his misdeeds. And your suspicion is right: Mrs. Garrison confirmed that her husband's computer is locked down like Fort Knox, only the best Secutec has to offer. You should …"

"… get in touch with Cyber Crimes and look into hackers who are able to operate on such a high level? Already did. I swung by on my way up. Here's the list. You won't like it." Peter wasn't surprised. Jones was fast on the uptake and always able to get fast results from Cyber Crimes, because, knowing quite a bit about technology, he spoke their language. Peter skimmed over the names: Iceman, Cha0s, Actionman, SmartAlec… oh, he saw what Jones meant. "Keep that to yourself for now," he ordered. "Where is Caffrey?"

"He was busy flirting with a model when I left. Diana will drive him back."

"Good." Peter waved Jones away, his mind already busy with the question of how to deal with the information Jones had given him. When Neal and Diana entered the office, he ignored them. He would speak with them later.

* * *

><p>Half an hour before the two o'clock meeting he got a call from Constance Cater, who told him her decision in the matter-of-fact-tone he was slowly getting used to. Her demanding personality would make the undercover assignment difficult for the chosen ones; Peter was sure of it. At least she had a clear stance, one he could work with (or around). And her decision just made his task a lot easier. So he was in good spirits when he started the meeting.<p>

"Let's clear up who won the betting pool," Peter said jovially. He hadn't missed the fact that the whole office had bet on the outcome of the casting. Literally everyone had bet on Neal being part of the chosen group, and the most popular choices for second and third were Diana and the new probie, Agent Quen. "Diana, I'm supposed to tell you that this time was better but she expects even more of you during the show." Diana grimaced. At least Chenille was reasonable in her demands, unlike Helen had been. "Agent Quen, it looks like you just landed your first undercover assignment." The probie looked very proud. Peter was very happy with the choice. The assignment was not particularly dangerous and it would be a good experience for her. "And now for our male model: Jones, you're the winner."

Everyone in the room was flummoxed, but nobody as much as Neal. "She didn't choose me?"

Peter knew he was enjoying this a little bit too much. "Apparently Jones is more suited for the job."

"What do you mean? I'm perfect for the job!"

"That's the thing, you're *too* perfect."

"Too perfect? I'm not sure I follow."

"She said, and I quote, 'I want to sell my clothes, not the model.'"

"Hm ... maybe she has a point." Neal seemed to be slightly mollified.

"But we might have another in for you."

Neal visible piqued up. "You've found a way to smuggle me onto the guest list?" he asked hopefully. Too hopefully for Peter's taste. He was awfully interested in attending.

"Nope, but they are still searching for hopeful young artists. Gwyneth Molesworth intends to meet Taryn Vandersan in three days at the Lambert Gallery to inspect some artwork."

"And I'm supposed to replace one of the artists?"

"You are supposed to submit your own work. Two or three paintings should be enough for a first viewing."

Now Neal's enthusiasm visible waned. "Peter…"

"It's a long shot, but Taryn will try to steer her in your direction."

"Three days is hardly enough time to create two paintings, let alone three."

"I'm sure you have something suitable in that storage unit of yours."

Only a trained eye could catch Neal's hesitation. The storage unit was nearly empty these days, thanks to Mozzie's actions, and he didn't want to remind Peter of this fact. "Most of them are copies or exercises in style. I would need something more original."

"In that case, I'll contact you should I have a question." Peter opened a file in a dismissive gesture.

Neal was visibly stunned. "You expect me to paint them now?"

"You said yourself: three days is not much time. You better start immediately."

Neal stared at him, astonished, but then he followed his order and left the office in a huff. Peter watched as he vanished into the elevator.

"Boss, do you really think that Neal has a chance to be chosen?" Diana asked doubtfully.

"We'll see. In any case, it'll keep him busy for the next few days." Peter showed no inclination to elaborate, so Jones took over.

"Our blackmailer managed to hack the computer of the CEO of Secutec – there are only a few hackers who are that good. And on the list is Vulture, better known as …" He made a ta-da motion.

"… Sally." Diana finished for him. "But that's not her MO."

"Nevertheless we can't scratch her from the list of suspects. Perhaps she did the hack but doesn't know about the extortion."

"Do you think that Neal will warn her?"

"He might be tempted. Or he might mention something to Mozzie. The less he knows the better."

"Shouldn't we exclude him from the operation?"

"No, we'll keep him busy. I'll ask Taryn to pretend that he is one of the chosen artists. The painting should distract him until the day of the party."

"He might be very disappointed when he discovers the truth."

"He'll be relieved. Neal doesn't like to display his original art."

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Neal was fretting. He had done a lot of paintings in his life, but rarely something which he considered original. The exception had been during his time in prison. He had always bought blank post cards in the prison shop, which he had changed into something unique, just for Kate. It would have felt like fraud to send her something copied, although he knew that she would identify the inspiration easily.<p>

He hadn't done anything truly original since she had vanished, save for the wall tattoo in the hotel. And now he was supposed to deliver three paintings in such a short time? The thought alone left him petrified.

Nevertheless he set up his easel and the paint – and proceeded to stare at the blank canvas until a knock at the door provided a good excuse to interrupt his work. June was by no means an overly-nosy landlady, but she tended to be aware of her surroundings. And a change in her lodger's routine was a matter to investigate, just to be sure that he was okay.

Neal naturally knew what her inquiry about joining her for tea was about, but he didn't mind. Her concern and her subtle reminders to eat properly made his apartment a home, and she instinctively knew when to back off.

"I can't," he explained. "I have to start this painting."

June raised an eyebrow. Neal wouldn't be that hesitant about a forgery, and he never rushed himself with his experiments. "What's the motif?"

Neal sighed. "I have no idea. Peter insists that I create something good enough for "Trends of Tomorrow" but I'm not inspired at all."

"Oh, I love "Trends of Tomorrow"? I'm invited every year."

Neal considerably lightened up.

"Do you need a date for the evening?"

"I have some candidates lined up."

"But are any of them as dashing as me?" Neal used his usual winning smile, but his eyes begged June to choose him.

"I thought you would be there as an artist?" June could guess the reason for Neal's request, but she wanted him to voice his doubts.

"Nobody would want one of my paintings. I lack a distinctive style and originality." Neal's voice betrayed old disappointment, and June wondered who had crushed his artistic spirit that thoroughly.

"Who cares about the critics? You know as well as I do that new styles are rarely immediately well received by them. There was a reason that the first exhibition of the Impressionists was in the _"Salon des Refusés"_. Today, those painters' work is considered priceless art."

"Yeah, people came mainly to laugh, because the work was so different from traditional works. The art world has changed in that regard. Nowadays, art has to be crazy and unusual. That's not my style."

"You copied Picasso and the Expressionists."

"Those are fun. It's like the artist poured their feelings on the canvas. I wish I could do the same."

"Why don't you?"

"I have to convince this Ms. Molesworth to choose me."

"Neal, this is not about conning a mark. This is about being an artist. And I want you to be just that."

"The case…"

"I'll make you a deal: You forget the critics and whatever people told you about your work. For once, be yourself while you paint. Choose a motif you like, and do what your feelings tell you. And if they don't choose your work, you'll get the honor of accompanying me."

An unusual unsure smile graced Neal's lips for a fleeting moment before utter delight took over his expression. "Would you sit for me?"

"You want to do a portrait of me?"

"No, not exactly. I want you to be my muse."

"I'd be honored!"

* * *

><p>Neal spent a lot of time on June's eyes. He wanted to capture their kindness and intelligence. But as soon as he was satisfied, everything else fell in place without a second thought. June finally left to ensure that Neal would get a substantial dinner, but Neal was so engrossed with his work that he barely noticed. He made his last paint stroke as June reentered his apartment with a tray.<p>

"Can I convince you to eat something?"

Neal smiled. "My stomach is doing the job for you. I'm starving. And I'm finished." The last words sounded somewhat timid. He turned the canvas around, but when she didn't react immediately, he hastily put it back on the easel. "I can try again tomorrow."

"Don't you dare! This one is perfect!" And it was. It wasn't really a portrait of her yet it captured her essence better than any photo ever could. The woman in the painting wore a simple but elegant dress. Her stance was slightly bent forward as if she were trying to take a closer look at something with the light she held in her hand – not a lamp or a candle, simply a bauble of light consisting of a myriad of swirling colors, slightly reflected in her dark skin. The light and the colorful patterns had a hypnotic effect, but the eyes were the center of the painting. They graced the watcher with a knowing look, as if they could read their very soul. "Does it have a name?"

"Psyche."

June hadn't expected this. "Psyche? Where does that come from?"

"Psyche could have stayed ignorant of the true face of her love, but she shed light into the darkness. She was ready to fight for her love and even went into the underworld to gain the right to be with him." Neal made a helpless gesture, unable to spell out the obvious parallels to June's own life. "If you like it, I'll give it to you after the case is over."

"I'll bid at the auction for it." June smiled. "I'm sure I'll have to fend off a lot of other interested parties."

June's confidence in him inspired Neal. Although he disliked working under artificial light, he started the next painting the very same evening. This time, he had to rely on his memories for yet another portrait. He finally went to sleep around midnight, and only because the first layer of paint had to dry properly.

He started again after a fast breakfast, musing how fortunate it was that he preferred to work in acrylic instead of oil. Otherwise he would never have managed to create anything in such a short timeframe. Acrylic was much faster-drying, giving the painter less time to work with the paint, but Neal's style had always been fast and precise. He lacked the patience to wait until oil paint had dried to do the next step.

This time the work was very detailed, so it was late afternoon when he finally finished. His stomach was complaining loudly at this point. Fortunately June had brought Neal a stew, which he gratefully warmed up. He really couldn't thank her enough for her support. What had seemed to be an impossible task had become an adventure thanks to her help.

Neal had always been proud of his forgeries, never of his original work. But now the idea of a public display excited him. He had to be chosen for this one, he just had to. And he knew, never mind what June said, he would have a better chance if he did something special. Contemplating his newest painting again, inspiration struck. But he couldn't do this alone. He drew out his phone.

"Mozzie? I need your help."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Yeah, the response to my prologue was so overwhelming and supportive that I decided to post this one immediately instead of waiting until the weekend. This chapter is dedicated to imbecamiel, who was more or less holding my hand while I created the characters I needed and helped me to construct a case, which is hopefully somewhat belivable. And, as always, I've to thank mam711. _

_I also have a secret to tell: while this is not a crossover, I had a lot of fun putting countless references to other TV-Shows and movies into the story, some fairly obscure, some very obvious. Sometimes I even allow characters turn up somewhere at the edge of the story, mentioned just in passing. I did this before, in my story ConTender, but nobody noticed back then. So if you have fun with things like this, you might want to be on the look-out (and yes, some of those references are in this chapter). _


	3. Chapter 2

Peter would never have admitted it out loud, but he was eager to see what Neal had created. But when he arrived at June's, Neal had already packed the paintings in crates for transport. Six hours before the meeting, they arrived at the gallery. Peter had no idea why Taryn thought that she would need that much time to hang some paintings, but who was he to argue with her, considering the favor she was doing him by keeping Neal busy. But that left him in a bit of a pickle. He didn't really feel comfortable with leaving Neal at the gallery, but Diana, Jones and he were supposed to appear in court today as witnesses for an older case. He had considered ordering another agent to keep an eye on Neal, but he didn't trust anyone else, either to be able to keep up with his shenanigans, or to react with the proper discretion should anything go wrong.

It was mostly Neal himself who inadvertently convinced him that he wouldn't pull anything this time around. He had obviously pushed himself very hard to get the paintings ready in time. While his appearance was as immaculate as always, Peter had learned to look behind the mask a long time ago. Neal's movements were less energetic than usual; he wasn't on top of his game at all. And his only interest seemed to be his paintings, which he treated like a secret treasure.

Halfway assured, he left Neal with Taryn and went to court. It turned out one of _those_ cases – where the lawyers were pulling all kind of delaying tactics and second guessing everything the witnesses said. Peter had thought that he would easily be back in time, but when he arrived at the gallery, it was pretty obvious that the meeting was already over. A very disgruntled-looking artist was taking his work off the wall. A young woman was seeking comfort from someone who seemed to be her boyfriend. Peter couldn't spot Neal, but his eyes caught a painting which had to be his work.

It wasn't exactly a portrait of Alex. But the smile and the stance of the figure on the canvas left no doubt who had been the inspiration. The woman held a golden box, which looked suspiciously like the music box, in the direction of the observer. The lid was slightly open and dark clouds oozed through the gap. A dark cloud made of question mark-like shapes was engulfing the woman, giving the impression of something dangerous lurking behind it, but nevertheless, there was nothing sinister about her. Her face had a soft caring warmth, drawing you in until you noticed the sadness in her eyes. Peter came closer to read the card, when the sudden sound of music coming from somewhere behind the painting distracted him. It was the sound of the music box - not the normal version, but the distorted tune of the code. He had never realized before how haunting it was. Slightly creeped out he read the title of the painting: Pandora. Then he hastily took a step back and the music thankfully stopped.

"I'm in!"

Peter turned around when he heard the excited voice behind him, coming face to face with a beaming Neal.

"Taryn just told me." Neal would never admit it to Peter, but it had been an unexpected result. Gwyneth Molesworth didn't seem to be impressed at all when she inspected the paintings. But nevertheless he had been chosen. "But now I'll have to create more paintings. She wants at least ten."

Peter shared a conspiratorial look with Taryn, who gave him a thumbs-up behind Neal's back. Yes, ten paintings would be enough to keep Neal busy. But he was slightly puzzled about Neal's reaction. He had always shown more pride in his forgeries than in his original work, had been initially very reluctant to submit anything at all, and now, suddenly, he acted all excited about it. Telling him that his work hadn't been chosen after all might be more difficult than he expected. But it was for the best. With the commutation hearing coming up, Neal was being scrutinized harder than ever. Though Peter wasn't sure yet what he should say during the hearing, he wouldn't allow Neal to get the wrong kind of attention during such a sensitive time.

* * *

><p>The downside of sidelining Neal from the actual investigation was not being able to keep an eye on him all the time. Peter got in the habit of keeping the tracking website on screen during the workday to make sure that he mostly stayed at June's. But it was far less reassuring than actually watching Neal at his desk, being able to see any unusual behavior. For all Peter knew, Neal might be with Mozzie, plotting. Although they both had decided to stay in New York, Peter was sure that Mozzie would encourage anything which involved pulling on Neal's leash.<p>

Something didn't feel right about this case, but Peter couldn't figure out why. He really needed someone to bounce some ideas off of. But Neal wasn't there. And he had taken to avoiding Diana, knowing that she was plotting some sort of revenge for making her a model – again. Jones mind was wrapped up in tech geek land. But there was always his favorite confidante.

In a rare display of punctuality, Peter entered his home exactly at dinnertime instead of ten minutes after, only to discover that Satchmo was the only one who greeted him. Elizabeth wasn't there yet. That was unusual. Being an event planner, she often had odd hours, but since parties on workdays were rare, she nearly always was at home before him on Wednesdays. Usually Peter would have shrugged it off, but in light of recent events, he had to battle an uneasy feeling. Forcing himself to stay calm, he checked his voicemail and looked in the kitchen and beside the phone in case she had left a message for him. Then he dialed her cell. He heard her usual ringtone outside. Comprehending quickly, he opened the door for her.

"Honey!" El said, surprised. "You're early."

"I'm exactly on time," Peter corrected her.

"Which means you're early," El pointed out jokingly and gave him a kiss on the cheek to soften the blow.

Peter sighed. He felt a little bit silly now. Why should El bother to call ahead that she would be slightly late if she couldn't even expect that he would be on time to notice? Apparently, he really was a foregone conclusion concerning those matters. Calling his own thoughts in check, he closed the door a little bit more forcefully than necessary. Better not to go there.

Elizabeth didn't notice her husband's mood. "I'm starving. Good thing there's still leftover stew in the fridge."

Whenever possible, Peter did his share of kitchen duty. So while El warmed up the stew, he set out the plates.

"Trouble at work?" he asked.

"Not at all. In fact, it was such a slow day I could take the afternoon off with no trouble at all. Neal was ecstatic." El put the stew on the table and immediately took a portion for herself, before Peter even had the chance to sit down properly.

"Neal?" While Neal seemingly effortlessly had managed to charm El the first time they met in person, they had never had the kind of relationship where they would meet each other just for fun, just like Peter would never spend time with Mozzie unless it was for a case or for Neal's benefit. And after everything which had happened, he wasn't even sure if he wanted her around either of them. They would never hurt her intentionally, but they definitely attracted the wrong kind of attention. And Neal suddenly wanting to meet with El alone? Certainly he was up to something.

"Yes, he asked me to sit for him. I'm quite flattered." She dug into her stew with visible gusto.

"He didn't offer you anything to eat?" That was unusual. Neal was normally a very gracious host, especially towards ladies. And he had a lot to make up for El. Peter had expected him to bend over backwards for her just to make sure that she wouldn't stop influencing Peter on his behalf. In fact, he thought that this was the main purpose of the meeting: making sure that El wouldn't hold her kidnapping against him.

Elizabeth laughed. "Neal is so wrapped up in work, mundane things like eating don't even cross his mind unless you put the meal right in front of him. June told me that it's quite a bother to get him eat properly."

"Is he? He wasn't exactly thrilled when I gave him the assignment."

"The poor dear was so anxious about it. But now he is brimming with excitement. I don't think that I have ever seen him that happy. Certainly not since Kate died."

Peter felt as if he had been slapped. If Elizabeth's assessment was correct (and he didn't doubt it – he had a very perceptive wife, after all), then he had done something horrible. How was he supposed to trash Neal's hope?

"What's the matter? You look upset," Elizabeth observed.

Very perceptive indeed. Now that she had gotten an inkling, there was no way to hide anything from her.

"It's all a ruse," he confessed. "Neal wasn't chosen. I just wanted him busy and away from the investigation."

Her eyes narrowed in anger. She knew that the trust between Peter and Neal was frayed, but this was beyond cruel. She couldn't imagine how Neal would react to such a disappointment.

"How could you do that? Why would you do that? Has Neal done anything?" For once, she really hoped he had.

"Sally is on the suspect list."

"…"

"Honey, it's for his own good."

"…"

"I didn't think..."

"You certainly didn't. This whole thing is for Neal like a long-buried dream come true."

"He doesn't like to display his art."

"He does when he thinks that he's getting the chance of a lifetime. This is beyond cruel."

"…"

"You know what you have to do."

"…"

"First thing tomorrow you will go to Neal and tell him the truth."

"Shouldn't I wait…?"

"He is running himself ragged for nothing." It wasn't Elizabeth's style to scream, but this was as close to screaming as it got with her. "Are you trying to destroy him? Is that your revenge on him?"

Peter didn't have an answer to that.

* * *

><p>Going by Elizabeth's description, Peter had expected Neal to be hyper, but that was not the case at all. Although he acknowledged Peter's presence without even interrupting his work, Neal looked almost serene in his calmness, working on his canvas with fluent brush strokes. The only thing unusual was his overall appearance. His hair slightly disheveled, he was clad in nothing but a comfortable-looking pair of gray slacks. Peter had to fight down a burst of jealousy as he pictured Neal in this attire while Elizabeth was posing for him. The whole afternoon long. Being all proud about it. And looking at Neal's half naked, muscular body.<p>

"Don't you have a shirt?" Peter snapped.

Neal ignored the unexpected harsh tone. He was used to Peter's moods. "I didn't expect visitors this early." He allowed a hint of anger to creep into the tone of his voice. In the early days of their partnership, it had been different. While Peter had tended to pull his data every day, he had felt less entitled to violate Neal's privacy in other regards. Back then, he actually knocked and even called ahead sometimes. Neal wasn't sure if Peter's callous intrusion into his apartment was a sign of their growing friendship, a result of Peter's mistrust or simply revenge for all the times he had turned up at the Burke's breakfast table. After everything that had happened, Neal didn't feel that he had the right to protest too much. He tried to give Peter a hint from time to time, when he went too far, but since his minder could be very oblivious for an FBI agent, Neal had learned to roll with the punches. "Give me a moment; I just want to finish this one."

"Is this the painting of Elizabeth?"

"Yes…but you can't see it yet. It isn't ready."

Peter scrutinized the paintings which were lined up against the wall, carefully avoiding _Pandora_; he didn't want to hear the haunting melody again. With fascination, he surveyed yet another portrait, this time of a woman who looked intently out of a metal frame. Or rather, it was like Peter was watching her through the screen of a computer, while she looked at a string of binary numbers, slightly reflected on her face and the background (which reminded Peter of tinfoil). The effect was so confusing that Peter needed a moment to really take in the features of the face itself.

"This reminds me of Sally?" Peter intentionally voiced his observation as a question.

"I call it Cassandra," was Neal's evasive answer.

"She sat for you?" The very idea made Peter antsy. Neal was good at keeping secrets, but if he told her what kind of exhibition the painting was for, it wouldn't be a difficult leap for her to guess the FBI's interest in the blackmail if she was involved.

Neal interrupted his work in favor of taking a close look at Peter's reactions. "No, I'm very capable of working from memory, if necessary. It's just easier with a live model. Peter, what's that all about? You act as if you suspect me of planning something behind your back."

Peter shifted, uncomfortable. "That's not really it." And that was the truth. He didn't suspect Neal more than usual. Perhaps even less so since Neal currently had a vast interest in staying on Peter's good side. He was just nervous because he knew how difficult it was for him to withstand temptations and how easily his loyalty to his friends could lead him astray.

"So what is it?" There wasn't even anger in Neal's voice, just resignation.

Peter forced a smile on his face. "It's just difficult to trust you after all that happened. But I'm not here to control you. I just want to talk to you about the case."

"Yeah, it doesn't really make sense, does it?" Neal went back to his painting. "Why would the blackmailer call now if the planned drop-off is in a month? Why give the victim so much time?"

"Possibly the blackmailer knows that Garrison would need time to organize the money. It's, after all, not a small sum. But why reveal the drop-off point that early?" mused Peter.

"And why the party? Yes, it's the perfect drop-off if you want to avoid the police, but it's also difficult to get in to. Unless the blackmailer is invited, too."

"Or otherwise connected to it. We checked the guest list, but since we can't involve Mrs. Molesworth, it's harder to gather who else might be present. Staff, perhaps personal friends."

"And the plus ones," Neal finished the thought for him. "Which reminds me, June is invited, too."

Before Peter could gauge the consequences of that tidbit of information, Neal stepped satisfied away from his canvas.

"It's finished. Want a look?" Though the tone in his voice was casual, Peter wasn't fooled. As adamant as Neal had been that Peter wasn't allowed to peek earlier, he was as anxious now about his judgment. Preparing himself to say something positive, no matter what (no reason to kick Neal before stabbing him with the news that all his hard work was for nil), he took in the newest Caffrey original.

It was breathtaking! Elizabeth was sitting in a tangle of threads, somehow able to hold them in order, and knitting what looked like a large comfortable blanket. It was a picture of homeyness, but the way she held her right knitting needle in a firm grip, the pointy end pointing at the viewer, clearly said, "Don't mess with me."

"How much?" Peter blurted out.

"If it isn't sold at the auction, I'll give it to you," Neal promised.

That was it, the perfect opportunity to tell Neal that there wouldn't be an auction, at least not for his work. But what came across Peter's lips was: "It looks great. Does it have a title?" Mentally he chided himself. Was he that much of a coward?

"Penelope." Neal had decided early on to stay on theme. It was a good inspiration and some buyers liked it if a painting was part of a series. "I just wish I could put a more-fitting frame on this one. A wooden one would look much better than those metallic ones."

Peter had to agree. He hadn't it noticed it before, but all the paintings for the exhibition now had the same metallic frame. It fit "Cassandra" quite nicely, but not some of the other works.

"'Pandora' looked better with the original frame, too. Why did you change it?"

"Not my idea," Neal explained, disgruntled. "Ms. Molesworth insists on those frames. Something about having a common denominator."

Peter was speechless. Then his mind caught up with what he just heard. "Ms. Molesworth?"

"Yes, she sent those frames to me. No idea how she got the reputation for her taste in art if she puts so much stock in such trivialities. That's more what I expect from people like Daniel Picah." In the past, Neal had delighted in stealing from those people. Who was he trying to fool? it still itched in him to rescue every single one of the pieces they owned. They didn't deserve art they didn't properly appreciate in the first place.

The thoughts in Peter's head were spinning. Neal talked as if he had spoken to Ms. Molesworth personally. Naturally it could be that Taryn "relayed" the message to him, but why should she do this? Her part of the deal didn't involve sending out expensive metal frames. There was only one conclusion: Peter had totally misunderstood her "thumbs up". Neal actually had been chosen.

* * *

><p><em>AN: This chapter is for canadianscanget, who gave me a lot of useful feedback concerning the description of the paintings. I don't have the talent she has to create a scene in a couple of words, but I hope, you got an idea how I imagine them. Naturally, mam711 took the task of beta-reading again. (I'm really blessed, aren't I?). I have an idea for most of the White Collar characters, but I don't think that I'll mention all the paintings I've in mind, just those which fit into the story. But those who have read my story "ConCurrent" are surely have a very good idea who Kate would be in this picture collection. Oh, and I forget to mention last chapter: "Swan" was the name of the artist, who did the "White bored" exhibition in "Prisoner's Dilemma". I'm not just dropping hints to other TV-Shows, there will be more than one reference to earlier episodes. Daniel Picah is the guy who had the big collection of stuff in "Home Invasion". _

_I can say that I was blown away by the finale. It actually confirmed some things I intended to mention in the story, so I'm double happy with it. At least until the next season starts, this story will be totally in canon. *celebrates* _


	4. Chapter 3

That evening, Neal lost his drive to paint for the first time since June had talked to him. His mind kept wandering to Peter's visit. It had been strange. It wasn't unusual for him to take a break in order to throw some ideas around with Neal. But he normally acted more disappointed when he didn't get a new angle out of it. This time, they had mostly rehashed what both of them already knew, and while it was good to voice their questions, they hadn't really made any progress. Nevertheless, Peter had left very hastily after Neal showed him "Penelope."

Someone knocking on his door (knocking? It sounded more like kicking) in a complicated pattern gave him the excuse he needed to put the paintbrush away.

"Come in, Mozzie!" Neal said.

The kicking started again. Neal hurried to open the door in order to protect it from further harm.

"The door is open. Why didn't you …" Neal had wanted to say "knock," but seeing Mozzie carrying a tray full of food and looking very disgruntled, he changed the wording, "… say something?"

Mozzie was. "I would hardly cry out my shame for every pesky neighbor to hear."

"It's just a tray. June send you up with it?"

"Reduced to being a servant!" Mozzie exclaimed dramatically. "The things I do for you."

"How the mighty have fallen." Neal managed to keep the sarcasm out of his voice and took the tray out of his hands. He also refrained from reminding his friend that he didn't mind doing those kinds of tasks during a heist. The relationship between them had been a little bit strained for a while, and not just because of Neal's refusal to flee with him with the treasure. Originally, when Neal had asked him to help with the technical side of "Pandora," Mozzie had been all supportive. But when he got chosen, Mozzie suddenly stopped visiting. Neal didn't notice at first, not until he realized that his wine collection hadn't been raided for a whole week.

"Join me for dinner?"

"I ate with June. We had a book club meeting."

So Mozzie wasn't here to see Neal. He might not even have swung by if not for June putting him to the task.

"A glass of wine perhaps?" Neal really wanted to know what was going on in Mozzie's mind, so he held up an especially exquisite bottle. Mozzie's favorite.

"I'll fetch a glass."

Though he had originally been reluctant to join Neal, Mozzie soon was all his usual self. He even hinted about a "thing" he had going on in order to better his diminished resources. Since Neal strongly suspected that Mozzie had somehow managed to secrete away part of the treasure (the amount which ended up at the FBI seemed to be so much less than what he had seen in the warehouse), he knew better than to take him too seriously. He was ready to bet that the "thing" was more about helping out a certain children's home than about Mozzie's own financial situation.

For a while they just enjoyed each other's company, until Mozzie set his glass down slightly forcefully.

"What's going on, Neal?"

"What do you mean?"

"Procrastination was never one of your sins, unless there's something on your mind. So why aren't you kicking me out in order to paint?"

Neal avoided his gaze.

"I just needed a little bit of downtime. And – Peter was here today."

Naturally, it was the Suit again; Mozzie squelched a bout of jealousy.

"I can see how this would stifle your creativity. The flair of the office, the breath of the repressed—"

"Well, other people have made an exhibit out of it," Neal pointed out. He sighed. "I have the feeling that Peter wanted something. And I mean not just getting a look at the painting of Elizabeth. Something important."

"It's finished?" Mozzie was immediately at the wall, looking at the paintings. Neal wasn't sure if his behavior was real interest or a ploy to avoid speaking about Peter. His friend had always praised him for his talent as a forger, but never showed any interest in his original work.

"You've painted Sally?" Mozzie suddenly exclaimed. "Are you crazy?"

"Relax, Moz. It's not like it's yclept 'Sally, alias Vulture.' And her face is barely recognizable in it."

Mozzie surveyed the painting critically.

"That's stupid. It should be hexadecimal numbers, not binary."

Neal sighed. "It has the right effect; that's the important part."

"It's a blatant misrepresentation!"

"Well, what do you want to do? Destroy it, like my other paintings?" Neal had never before addressed or even acknowledged the issue, but now he felt the anger over it, as fresh as it was the very first day.

"They were mostly just studies in style," Mozzie pointed out.

"They were mine! To the world, they might not have been as valuable as a Monet, but they were valuable to me. They were the work of months. And you destroyed them without a by-your-leave. And you nearly blew me up along with them."

Mozzie took a step back as if he had been hit.

"Neal.…"

"Just forget it!" Neal started to clean up the table, putting the china forcefully back on the tray.

"First rule of the con: Never get attached," Mozzie reminded him. "Especially not to useless stuff."

"Like a treasure?"

"You wanted the treasure, too. Our big score. I could have kept it for myself."

"Yes," acknowledged Neal. "But you can't always have everything. Choices are sacrifices."

"Everything is something you decide to do, and there is nothing you have to do," Mozzie quoted. "We are con men, Neal. The barriers of a normal life are not for us."

"But the barriers of a prison cell could be."

"There is no prison which can hold you. Unless you allow it."

Neal knew immediately what Mozzie hinted at. "You like it here, too."

"But I don't allow a Suit to dictate my life. Look at all those paintings. You remember that this is an undercover job, right?"

"Yes, I know. But perhaps there are people who like my work. Is that so difficult to imagine? That I'm more than just a forger?"

"You used to be proud of being the best."

Neal didn't answer. How was he supposed to explain to Mozzie how much this meant to him? Mozzie appreciated art, but he was no artist. And Neal suspected that it was mostly the monetary worth of good art and old wine which caused his friend to admire the finer things in life.

For a while, an uncomfortable silence filled the room.

"You should take a good look at what the Suit might be up to," Mozzie finally said, moving towards the door. "And don't you dare paint me." With these words, he was gone.

"How could I capture you on canvas?" Neal thought. "I sometimes don't even know who you are."

* * *

><p>Peter had hoped that the news about Neal's impending breakthrough as an artist would get him out of the doghouse. Alas, it wasn't that easy. As El rightfully pointed out, what he had intended to do counted more than the actual outcome.<p>

"But I didn't intend to hurt him," Peter defended himself. "I just wanted to make sure that he didn't end up in trouble. His hearing is coming up soon."

El gave him an assertive look. She knew it hadn't been easy for him to let Neal off the hook for his involvement in stealing the treasure. She herself believed that Mozzie had been mostly culpable for that one. If Neal had really wanted to go, he would have left long before Keller turned up in New York. She had to be sure that her husband wasn't unconsciously misusing his position to punish Neal. Not just for Neal's, but also for his own sake.

"If I had known that he had a hidden desire to be a real artist after all, I wouldn't have done this," Peter assured her.

Her stance relaxed slightly.

"The painting of you is stunning," he tried.

"It is?" Now El was beaming. "You saw it?"

"Neal finished it while I was there. At this rate, he'll have a dozen paintings by the end of the week. He is very fast."

"I don't think that he'll be satisfied with this. It's really important to him, you know."

"It's still an undercover assignment," Peter reminded her.

"It's also the opportunity to catch the attention of some influential people. This could be very helpful when he gets the commutation."

"_If_ he gets the commutation." Peter still wasn't sure if that would be a good thing.

"Knowing that he has an honest income waiting for him might make the decision easier for you," El suggested.

Neal leaving the Bureau? Peter couldn't imagine this scenario. But, he realized, this would most likely be the result whenever Neal's sentence was over. At the moment, the con man was a cheap asset, more or less cost-free since the government had to pay for his basic needs either way. But would the Bureau be ready to keep him as a paid consultant? Peter somehow doubted this, outstanding conviction rate notwithstanding.

"You think he could be successful as an artist?" El had a much better idea how the art world worked than he.

"I don't know. But I think he is made for the adoration and attention he might get if he stays on this path."

Peter was still thinking about these words the next morning. He had always known that Neal needed attention. It was one of the elements which made him ... addicted ... to crime. It was something Neal was good at, and he had worked hard to build himself a reputation. Perhaps it was a good thing to provide him with another source of admiration.

Entering his office, he was surprised to discover the subject of his thoughts sitting at his usual desk, a giant sketchbook in hand.

"Shouldn't you be at home, working on your paintings?" Peter asked.

Neal gave him one of those "I'm totally innocent and have nothing planned" smiles which always raised Peter's alarms. "I told you, it's easier to work with a live model."

"This is not an atelier. We are doing actual work here."

Neal had a hard time keeping his emotions in check hearing those words. He had encountered this kind of attitude regarding artistic work fairly often, and he really shouldn't be surprised that Peter, with his "down-to-earth" point of view, would voice those sentiments.

"So am I," he countered. "In fact, I've done nothing else since you gave me this assignment, even on Sunday, which you spent at the movies with Elizabeth."

"Well, I'm busy now."

"Oh, no worries; I'll start with Diana and Jones."

"They are busy, too."

"I won't disturb them. What harm does it do if I just watch them and make some sketches?"

"You can't sketch them. Or paint them. You'll blow their cover."

"You worry too much. I'm a pro, remember?" With those words he leaned back in his chair, showing off his lack of intention to go anywhere.

Peter could order him to go home. But that would be like setting off a flare, alerting Neal that his presence wasn't welcome at the moment. It was better to wait the issue out. Neal would have to go back to real painting soon enough.

Despite his worries, Neal really wasn't disturbing anything. Jones was ready to model for him immediately, and so he was soon sitting near his desk, his pencil flying over his sketchbook, while Jones concentrated on some paperwork. Knowing that Jones was well versed in Neal's tricks, Peter was able to concentrate on his own work again.

Neal was soon truly enjoying himself. The sketching had been a ploy to spend the day in the office, an opportunity to see what was going on there. But the way Jones was hunched over his desk proved to be a wonderful inspiration. He should ask more people to sit for him. But not people from the street. People he knew and liked.

When he felt that he had enough material, he approached Diana. The female agent didn't even bother to look up. "Don't even think about it," she said in an icy tone.

"You don't want to be captured on canvas forever?"

"I don't want to end up as some sort of tragic Greek figure."

"But perhaps you'll like what I have in mind for you."

"Unlikely."

"I don't have to sketch you. I could paint you from memory."

"And I could break your arm."

"The arm is still needed for the undercover assignment."

Diana barely kept herself from blurting out that breaking his arm would work just as well to keep him away from the whole case.

"I could break your leg for a change," she said in a dangerous calm tone instead.

"Then I would change my original concept," he said, unimpressed. "You would make a nice Erinye. A Fury," he clarified for good measure, even though he knew that Diana was fairly knowledgeable in art and literature.

"And pray what was your original concept?" Diana asked, already half defeated. She was normally very good at keeping Caffrey at bay, but when he really wanted something, it was sometimes better to give in early on, pretending that it was a one-time "I was just in a good mood" thing, instead of capitulating later on.

"An Amazon!"

"Just an Amazon? Not a special one?"

No, naturally not. While people interested in arts tended to be better educated than the general public, Neal knew it was better to keep it simple instead of using the more obscure names of the Amazons mentioned in Greek mythology.

"Only Amazons who lost against Greek heroes have been named," Neal explained, half truthfully. "I want to draw a victorious one." And really, could Diana be anything else?

The female agent was honestly flattered. Nevertheless, she did her best not to show it. "But my face …"

"… won't be easily recognizable. I won't blow your cover," Neal promised.

"You better not. Or I will break your arm AND your leg."

* * *

><p>Sadly, Diana didn't stick around long enough for Neal to be satisfied. He had a hard time capturing her sarcastic smirk. On paper it somehow didn't have the same terrifying yet alluring effect, and Neal just couldn't figure out what was missing. But Diana and Jones had to go to fittings for the impending fashion show. They had been warned they'd better clear their schedule for this. Neal was pretty amused by this. Apparently Chenille was taking advantage of the fact that she didn't have to pay the FBI agents by the hour – or at all. And she certainly wasn't afraid to remind the Bureau that she was the one doing a favor for them.<p>

Neal looked around for a new "victim", but finally took advantage of Jones empty desk. Perching on its edge, he had a perfect view of Peter sitting in his office. It was one of those rare occasions when the glass walls off the office proved to be an advantage. Obviously it wasn't the perfect position to sketch someone. In fact, Neal was way too far away to do more than a general impression. But he was sure he would eventually get a better position this way.

Peter had gotten into the habit of checking out what Neal was doing at random intervals long ago. So it didn't take long for him to notice Neal making a great show of watching and sketching him. He sighed. He knew exactly what Neal was doing, but the truth was, with Diana and Jones out of the office, it would be better to keep Neal close. Who knew what he would snoop out otherwise? Without even bothering to stand up he gave him the double-finger point. With a satisfied grin, Neal followed the silent command.

"You double-finger pointed?" he asked in an annoying chipper voice.

"I can't keep you from painting me, can I?"

"You liked the painting of Elizabeth," Neal reminded him.

"She is a better model."

"Let me be the judge of that. Come on, you don't even have to smile. Or interrupt your work."

Peter pointed to the corner. "Take a chair and be silent, or I'll order the Marshals to reduce your radius to the apartment for a week."

Neal frowned. It wasn't unusual for Peter to spout out threats when he was annoyed, but normally they were more along the line of sending him back to prison, something Neal knew (hoped) Peter wouldn't do over a minor occurrence. But the Marshals were a serious threat. Taking the seat in the corner, Neal tried to figure out what had raised Peter's ire. There was the whole treasure incident. It could be enough to explain why his handler was constantly pulling the big guns on him. But he hadn't been that way since Peter had given his statement about Keller. Neal studied Peter's features. He seemed to be focused on his work, but this man rarely missed anything, and Neal couldn't shake the feeling that he was watching him carefully. It was less the eyes, more the way he held his whole body, never fully relaxed, always ready to react if necessary. Peter was on the hunt, a discovery which made Neal tingle from excitement. The game was on!

Problem was: Neal had no idea _which_game. He hadn't done anything against the rules, which meant that Peter had something up his sleeve. With a guarded look Neal watched Peter.

"Do you want something?" Peter sighed.

"Just studying your features," Neal answered innocently.

Peter tried to get back to work, but Neal's scrutiny made it impossible to concentrate. He felt like a participant in a staring contest, even though he wasn't even looking in Neal's direction. Unable to stand the tension any longer, he decided to take action.

"Where are you going?" Neal asked when he left his desk.

"I need a break," Peter said gruffly and left Neal alone. In his office. With nobody to keep an eye on him.

Neal's eyes immediately wandered to the desk. It might be a treasury of information. The computer was tempting, but not really an option. Neal knew full well that Peter had some really sneaky safeguards on it. But there was the file Peter had been working on. Just a little peek…

But before he could take action, something popped into his mind, as if Mozzie had whispered the warning into his ear: _That's what he expects you to do._ Neal took a moment to consider his options. This whole set-up could be a trap. A sudden idea occurred him. Perhaps all this was about the upcoming hearing after all. Peter's behavior could be a test to see if Neal had really changed, or if he would poke around where he shouldn't again. To win this, Neal had to do what he always did: the unexpected. And in this case the unexpected was doing nothing. This time around, he would do nothing which could be misunderstood by Peter.

Satisfied with his battle plan, Neal excused himself shortly after Peter came back. His sketchbook and his mind full with ideas, he accidentally brushed too close to Jones' desk; one of the files ended up on the floor, with paper spread around everywhere. Without really paying attention to what he was doing, he collected the mess, already planning the painting of Jones in his head. Leaving the file on the desk, he left the office.

Peter had been surprised that Neal hadn't fallen for his bait. Nothing on his desk had been disturbed. Perhaps Neal really was just there to sketch. But then the sound of falling paper caused him to pay attention to the office again. He immediately recognized the classic Caffrey move. As soon as Neal had left the office, he checked into which file Neal had taken an interest in. It was the research about the hackers. Thankfully Jones had followed Peter's advice and kept everything about Vulture separate. Peter sighed again, for the umpteenth time since this investigation started.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Sorry this took so long. I could cite real life, but the truth is, I had trouble figuring out the last scene. Thankfully Mam711 was superfast with the beta-read, otherwise this might have taken even longer. I hope you all have fun with this one, even though it's mostly about characters seizing each other up. _


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